In Kinabalu and the super eight were up super early on a Saturday morning for a 6am pick-up – so early that the hotel breakfast buffet had not even started, although they did provide us with a packed breakfast to take-away. We also met Barry for more or less the first time, and our contact from Amazing Borneo, the tour operator who had the pleasure of our custom. There was a minor panic when a second pick-up didn’t include Toby, Kevin and Callum but we were assured that they were on another bus and we’d see them at the check-in point. Then it was a two hour bus journey to Kinabalu Park Headquarters, which was unremarkable save for our first close up look at the mountain with it’s jagged peaks looming large above us.
After registration we were transferred to the Timpohon Gate at an altitude of 1,866 metres, and then we were off. Timpohon Gate is both the start point and the end point, so as we started walking then turned to look back, there’s a sign saying “Welcome back. You are successful climbers.” So could we just turn around and go home now then? It must have been around 10am when we set off, and we had what was described as a 4-5 hour walk ahead of us. That timing may have required reviewing as Toby the Whippet set off at a blistering pace.
And whoever described Kinabalu as involving a lot of steps, was not wrong. Rough, uneven steps, which put an immediate strain on your thighs and calves. We passed the Carson Falls, with nary a drop of water in them – evidence of a drought which was affecting the area – and carried on going up and up. There were a number of shelters on the way which afforded a little rest and respite and the opportunity to have your lunch stolen by the unabashed squirrels.
And it was on and on. And up and up. Relentlessly. Many of the trails we did in Hong Kong are characterized by short periods of ascent followed by flatter areas, which gave you a chance to get your breath back and relax your muscles a bit. Aside from the final night, even ascents on Kilimanjaro were relatively modest. This was just non-stop. Up and up.
The weather forecast, which we’d been following anxiously for the past few days, predicted rain on the mountain, and while that had thankfully not come about, the air was thick with cloud, a damp mist. Which was actually a blessing. Doing this in baking sunshine would be torturous. The cloud kept the temperature down and the sun away. The forest became thicker and mossier the higher we got and the trees were draped in the spooky ‘old man’s beard’ lichen. At around 2,700 metres the vegetation changes, becoming shorter and much more open. This is also apparently the zone of insect-eating pitcher plants for which Kinabalu is famous, although I’d be buggered if I saw anything, not that I would have known what I was looking for anyway.
People on their way down took delight in offering encouragement, and saying ‘you don’t have far to go’, some of whom were clearly deluded. We seemed to still be going long after we were told it wasn’t far. But the accommodation complex of Laban Rata, at a height of 3,272 metres, finally came into view, signalling the end of the day’s hiking. We were supposed to have arrived at Pendant Hut at around 3pm. We were there at 1pm. It had taken us just three hours to complete the first section.
Why we did it in three hours, I’m not quite sure, but Mr Cooper likes a fast pace, and the rest of us all had to follow in order to prove our masculinity. When I’d quizzed him earlier that morning our man Barry said he had done no training and was essentially a lazy git who did little or no exercise. One suspected he may have been economical with the truth as he seemed to have had no bother with the day’s exertions.
Our party of eight was accommodated in a single dorm room in the hut, which must have nice for Flora. Not only did she have to put up with all the nonsense we’d waffle on about, she now had to endure the delights of Callum and Cormac’s snoring, and everyone else’s farting and other nightly noises. Is this what they mean by “for better and for worse”?
But nobody had previously mentioned the Crocs. Obviously the hut operators didn’t want people tramping through the hut with their muddy boots on, so boots were required to be left in the porch, and a pair of shoes/slippers were provided for use inside. Which was all well and good, but not Crocs, for fook’s sake. A true triumph of function over form they are/were the single most unfashionable item in the universe. And here we were required to wear them. I preferred to stay in my stockinged feet rather than commit crimes against humanity. But I do now have a photo of Toby Cooper wearing Crocs, which was shortly to be be available for auction on ebay at an appropriate price.
Our aggressive pace meant we had an afternoon to kill in the hut, which inevitably meant a game of cards, although Cooper had once again forgotten to bring them. You only give him one job…
Thankfully there was a pack in the hut and The Global Arsehole Tour resumed. It was however disrupted as the afternoon clouds cleared and we were finally afforded some spectacular views of the mountain above us against a clear blue sky. And it has to be said, it looked a bloody long way up from where we were. We were also required to attend a briefing for Via Ferrata which consisted of little more than passing ropes through hoops and hooking and unhooking carabiners. We all attended the training although there is some doubt as to whether we’d actually bother with the exercise itself.
A via ferrata, or ‘iron road’ in Italian, is a protected mountain pathway consisting of a series of rungs, rails, cables and bridges embracing the rock face. It allows access to scenic sections of the mountains that are typically available only to rock climbers and mountaineers. And guess what, the world’s highest via ferrata – starting at 3,800m – just happened to be on Mount Kinabalu.
Will and Flora had more or less decided that they would not be doing it as they anticipated needing more time for a slower descent. Toby and Barry are scared of heights, so they were both hesitant. Callum had been keen all along but now even he was questioning it. Only Cormac and Kevin remained bullish.
And certainly not myself. I had some concern about this. Although I’m generally okay with heights there had been the occasional wobble over the years. In Tokyo in 2002 during the football World Cup, myself, Brendan Murray and Paul Davis went to visit the Tokyo Tower, a 333 metre communications and observation tower, i.e. a radio mast. None of us had any concerns about the height but by the time the lift reached the first landing stage at 150 metres, I was in bits. While Bren and Paul, numerous families, small children and a few grannies happily entered the second lift to ascend to 250 metres, I remained on the landing, hugging the wall, unable to look out over the city. I stayed there motionless until Bren and Paul came back down, prised me away from the wall, put me back in the lift and escorted me back to terra firma. Now where that came from I have no idea. I once did the most ginormous bungy jump imaginable from a suspension bridge in New Zealand so why I was unable to ascend beyond 150 metres on this occasion baffled me. The only thing I could put it down to was nausea and anxiety due to a monstrous hangover.
But there was to be no hangover here. There may have been tiredness of course, exhaustion, cold, or altitude sickness, any number of factors which may have induced the same fear. And just the thought of being frozen with fear on a rock face 3,800 metres in the air, unable to move upwards or downwards, left or right, was enough to make one’s sphincter twitch even there in the safety of the hut. We would wait and see…
A buffet dinner was to be had at Laban Rata restaurant, which was remarkably passable given the location. They even had beer for sale and even more remarkably, we universally ignored it. Then it was back to Pendant Hut, and in the face of absolutely nothing else to do, off to bed. It wasn’t even eight o’clock.
Go to Chapter 17: Rush Hour